


Untold Blessings

by MonkeyBard



Series: Capture the Cauldron [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 10:27:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19904224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonkeyBard/pseuds/MonkeyBard
Summary: What makes John vital to Winnie’s plan?





	Untold Blessings

**Author's Note:**

> Date: 21 July 2019  
> JWP #21: I’ve Got a Secret: John Watson reveals a secret he's been hiding his entire life. Bonus point if the secret is that Watson is a vampire.

“We just established that I’m an ordinary, mortal human. How can I possibly get into Morfran’s cottage? Surely he’s put up wards or something.”  
  
“How do you know about a thing like that, John Watson?”  
  
He stopped short, sitting up straighter. “I’m not sure. I must’ve learned it researching a case.”  
  
“What case might that have been? Can you really see Sherlock sanctioning anything so illogical?”  
  
“I don’t do everything he tells me to,” John protested, irked.  
  
“Of course not,” she agreed, and John got the distinct feeling she was humouring him. Then she hit him with a non-sequitur bizarre enough to cause mental whiplash. “Do you recall your christening?”  
  
“What? No. I was an infant, you know.”  
  
“Your granna was there, though, wasn’t she?”  
  
“Well, yeah. I’ve seen photos.” It had been decades since he’d seen them, but they were still in his memory. There was one in particular he could always recall. In it, his mother stood beaming as she held him in her arms, his long christening gown draping past her hips. Beside them was her mother, John’s Granna Rose, smiling the warm, secretive smile her face always wore in his mind’s eye. “I’m sorry, but what’s this got to do with getting into the cottage?”  
  
“Where were you when your sister Harriet was born?”  
  
John felt like he was on some diabolical carnival ride that changed directions and went round blind turns without any warning. “I don’t— Hang on. I was at my gran’s. Mum had a rough time with Harry and everyone thought it best if the toddler was out of the way for a while. So my gran picked me up and took me home with her for the duration. A fortnight, maybe?” Slowly, old memories trickled back. Secrets kept between him and his Welsh grandmother, rest her soul. “We built fairy houses and tended her herb and flower gardens. She taught me songs I can’t remember. We danced and played in rivers of moonlight.” Fondness mingled with nostalgia and he smiled gently. “I didn’t want to go home.”  
  
Winnie nodded sagely, her own smile soft as rose petals. “That’s why you know what magical wards are and it’s why you can get past them here.”  
  
“I don’t understand.”  
  
“Your Granna Rose was a witch, John. She put her own blessing on your head at your christening, and when you spent that time with her later, she secured that blessing.” She sought a parallel that would make sense to his mundane experience. “Think of it like Confirmation, if that helps you understand. But for witches.”  
  
His brows drew together in confusion. “How do you know any of this about Gran and me?”  
  
She pointed to herself, her expression gone wry. “Goddess, remember? I had my suspicions since the first time you and I met. It wasn’t until you took Creirwy overnight that I was certain.”  
  
Realisation dawned and John all but gaped. “Is _that_ why that was all the payment I had to give? You sent her to spy on me?”  
  
Winnie didn’t even look chagrined. “I needed to know.” She grew solemn. “Now I need your help. Will you give to me?”  
  
He sighed and shook his head in resignation. “I’ve come this far. Of course I’ll help. Tell me how.”  
  
“You’re right when you said you’re a mortal human. But you were wrong when you said you were ordinary. An ordinary human’s presence would set off all sorts of warnings the moment he crossed over into our world. Thanks to your wise and clever granna, _ŵyr_ , you have just enough magic to blend into the scenery here, so to speak.”  
  
John was wary. She was talking about him walking into essentially hostile territory with nothing but her reassurance and a four-year-old’s vague memories of time spent with his grandmother to protect him. “How do you know I won’t set off any alarms?”  
  
“Because you’re here, John, and no one’s come to harm you.”  
  
“I… What?” Something she’d said early suddenly struck him. “Not just Wales.”  
  
“Hmm?” Her eyes were wide with false innocence.  
  
“You said, ‘It’s not just Wales.’” He looked around as if the landscape might have transformed about him with the revelation. All was as it had been: the clear blue sky, the smell of salt water on the breeze, the corgi on the horizon. “Are we in…” He felt ridiculous, but what else could he call it? He hoped she wouldn’t be as annoyed with him as Creirwy had been. “Is this fairyland?”  
  
“Prosaic, but not inaccurate.”  
  
Again, she sounded weirdly like Sherlock and it was enough to pull him back on track. “All right. Why not?” He’d seen and experienced enough by now that he willingly shook off his astonishment and focused on his companion. “Presumably Morfran would see or feel you or Beauty coming. But you’re not saying I’m invisible here. Just that I…blend in?”  
  
“Anyone here can look at you and see you, but your energy doesn’t disrupt the natural flow of magic. You’re barely a blip on the radar.”  
  
“I’ll try not to take that personally,” joked John.  
  
“That’s your _power_ , John. That’s what will allow you to enter the cottage and retrieve the cauldron.”  
  
“I just have to do it without being seen.”  
  
“Creirwy and I will keep Morfran occupied while you make the grab.”  
  
“You make it sound so simple,” he said dryly. “Okay. What do I do once I have the cauldron?”  
  
“Ideally, you get out of the cottage without being noticed.”  
  
He came damned close to rolling his eyes, but managed to stifle the urge. “Yes, and then?”  
  
“You run, John. Run as if your life depends on it.”  
  
“Why do I think it _does_ depend on it?”  
  
“Because you’re not a fool.”  
  
“Yeah. Tell me that again when this is over, because right now, I have my doubts.”


End file.
